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…one times one

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As a child, I felt the quiet and the melancholia
on my mom’s face, she never hummed,
she never sang

but she put beans on the plate with tears
as I counted my toes, one times one
and I whispered…
“Mom, is there a God?”

and somewhere between the beans
tears and prayers the wind blew,
a psalm of love

as I counted my toes one times one,
hoping her words would come,
with, “Horton Hears a Who!”

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